


In the Event of Proximity

by ReaderWriter42



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 21:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaderWriter42/pseuds/ReaderWriter42
Summary: Zee is an indispensable friend to Brad.





	In the Event of Proximity

**Author's Note:**

> This story is un-beta'd, so apologies for any error. 
> 
> I don't write much fic so bear with me, and please let me know if there is any interest in continuation.

Brad’s not entirely sure when it all started. What he does know is that he now relies on his post-game routine - win or lose, after press time, he sits down for a meal with his captain and they discuss anything but the game. Usually it’s the weather, their next training day (where Brad usually chirps Zee a little for scaring the newer players by squatting more than they ever will), but sometimes it gets deeper. Dreams, goals, lofty ideas of what life would be like if things were different. Maybe if the NHL was a kinder organization, more diverse, the game would be more welcoming to everyone. But for now, this is the life they’re stuck with, and it’s okay, really. Chara tells him that he used to lean on his teammates in a different way, long ago, before he went pro. How in Slovakia, men are not so afraid of companionship,of affection. And that’s all it is, as they sit closer to one another week after week, until their thighs are solidly pressed against one another’s, and their elbows brush as they lift their cups.

  
After these dinners, they always smile, thank one another, and turn and head in opposite directions to their cars. It’s only once Chara opts into a ‘plant based’ lifestyle that he suggests that they dine at his house, so he doesn’t have to deal with navigating a menu with a vegetarian section laden with fats and too little protein. Brad readily agrees, the first thought in his head one about saving money,before he has to remind himself that he’s definitely comfortable in that aspect of his life. So, after the next game, they shower and pack up, dealing with the press, and saying goodbye to their teammates, before going to Zee’s house. Brad hovers awkwardly in the kitchen while Zee unpacks his bag, not one to let his laundry sour before getting it into machines. Standing still has never been one of his strengths, and being in Zee’s house without the rest of the team has him a little anxious, for reasons he can’t exactly pinpoint. This translates into nervous energy, which has him opening cabinet doors and surveying the tidy stacks of dishes, organized by type and size. He’s almost decided to start assembling dinner from the vast array of foods in the fridge when the big man comes back in.

“Marchy, are you going to play chef for our first dinner at my house?” Zee asks, the smile evident in his voice. Still, the thought of being caught doing something he didn’t exactly have permission to do, which could seem invasive, makes Brad straighten up and slam the refrigerator door shut, a little louder than he meant to.

“Sorry, Zee, I uh…” he starts, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “...got impatient?” he finally finishes, trailing off a little at the end, realizing he doesn’t have a concrete excuse for why he was snooping through his captain’s kitchen. He finally looks up, up, up to meet his eyes, and finds him restraining a laugh. Some of the anxiety lifts from his shoulders and he starts to grin, hand dropping back to his side. Zee just shakes his head and Brad steps away from the fridge, leaning against the counter so the taller man can open the door and start on dinner. He hands him tupperware containers, which Brad just holds onto, until the other straightens up, one hand holding a stack of clear glass containers with brightly colored vegetables inside.

“Do you want to help cook, or would you rather have a cup of tea and relax on the sofa while I get everything ready?” Zee asks, not really seeming to have a preference between the options he presents. Brad thinks a minute; he’s not the best cook, per se, but hasn’t managed to burn the house down with his attempts yet. Noticing the hesitation, Zee continues, “Or you could have a cup of tea and supervise.”

“Oh, yeah, supervising is what I’m best at,” Brad perks up at that suggestion, and goes to inspect the drawer of tea boxes that has been opened for him. While he peruses, Zee pulls a cup out of the cabinet and fills the electric kettle with fresh water, returning it to its base and clicking the lever into the start position. Brad selects a box with no English writing on it, opens it and gives it a sniff. Lavender? Chamomile? Something kind of… lemony. Yes, this will do. He takes a bag out and puts it into the cup. Doing so, he notices that the cup is white and orange, printed with cartoonish witch hats. He laughs, tilting the mug in the direction of the man who is studiously chopping vegetables and warming olive oil in a skillet on the stove.

“I like these mugs, they’re big and keep my tea warm for a long time,” Zee says without looking over at him. The water in the kettle is bubbling, demanding attention, and Zee stops chopping to lean across Brad and take the kettle from the base. His hand cups Brad’s as he steadies the mug and pours the scalding water over the tea bag. Standing this close, Brad can’t help but notice heat he’s just about shoulder high to the other man, and leans his head to the side to gently bonk it into his shoulder. Once the water is poured, they return to companionable silence, the sizzle of the vegetables hitting the hot oil the only sound to accompany them.

Dinner is delicious, actually, and Brad doesn’t really miss having meat. They sit on the couch, eating out of bowls, once again, brushing thighs. But somehow, this time, Brad can’t help but notice the muscle in the other’s leg, long and lean. He attempts to brush those thoughts out of his head, remembering their discussion about how physical contact is just a normal thing in the other man’s home country. Zee is talking about his trip to the park, feeding birds, when he notices that Brad is not paying attention to him.  
“Marchy,” he sets his bowl down on the coffee table, turning to his teammate. “Where did you go?”

“Hm? What? Oh…” Brad trails off, caught in his musing, at a loss for how to respond. Finding nothing but concern behind the eyes of the other, he attempts to put his thoughts into words. “Well, I was thinking about that thing we talked about, it’s been awhile, but do you remember talking about how guys here don’t really touch each other?” That sounds like a lame way of restating the always eloquent points brought forward by the older man, he thinks, but sees no indication that the sentiment is shared by the other.

“Sure, Marchy, I remember. Are you uncomfortable with the level of contact we have?” a cloud crosses his face at that, and Brad thinks he feels a shift away from him as Zee folds his hands in his lap.

Suddenly very uncomfortable with the thought of losing the progress they’ve made, and vowing to stow the word ‘progress’ into the back of his mind, Brad leans forward to slide his bowl onto the coffee table next to the other. “No, no, not at all, kind of the opposite actually, I was thinking about how much I like our friendship.” he knows it sounds lame, but can’t think of a way to say what he really thinks without sounding… gay. And there’s another word to put into the filing cabinet to get back to when he has more time to process. But his answer seems to satisfy his companion, who leans back in a little and wraps a long arm around his shoulders.

“I like our friendship too, Bradley,” hearing his full name is strange, but not unwelcome. Brad leans into the embrace, and they sit together in comfortable quiet, dinner almost forgotten.


End file.
